


Art of the Innocent...

by Dratter (Ragdoll_llodgaR)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Artist Harry Potter, Big Sister/Little Brother, Daddy Ron, Daddy/Little/Mommy relationship, Depressed Harry Potter, Eventual dom/sub/dom relationship, F/M, Ginny Is Awesome, Ginny is Harry's big sister, Harry draws dirty pictures, Harry has had crushes on cho chang, Harry is a little, Harry is a secret sexual deviant, Harry's Little, Little Harry, M/M, Mommy Hermione, Multi, Non-Sexual Age Play, Overprotective Ginny, Ron's going to be the sweetest Daddy, Sexual age-play, Suicidal Thoughts, draco - Freeform, ginny almost regrets seeing said dirty pictures, harry is insecure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 10:02:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12956874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragdoll_llodgaR/pseuds/Dratter
Summary: Harry has loved his friends since the beginning. Hermione's loved them since the beginning. Ron loved him since... well close enough to the beginning. But, apparently Harry is too subtle, and Hermione and Ron are stupid and decide to settle down. Harry has always expressed himself through pencil drawings, from the abuse of his childhood, to his crush on his potion teacher, to his unfulfilled love for his best friends who plan to marry in a few months time. A nosey red-head, a repressed need to regress, and yet again another red-head my just bring our three heroes together.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Harry's headspace is of a toddlers, 2-4. He is both a non-sexual and sexual age player, sometimes he regresses into that of a childs mental state, and other times he likes to be treated like a child in a sexual setting. This fic doesn't have any outright sex scenes, but does describe some of the lovely art our little minx likes to draw, THERE IS MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, although breif it is there. so. yeah. 
> 
> If you feel that age play and regression is the same as pedophilia, I strongly urge you to do some research, and if you dont want to, then I could honestly not care less if you want to blow up my comments with hate, because I wouldn't post something online unless I expected hate. Cause Duh. As a Mainly LIttle/Switch (although not to the extent of Harry in this fic) this fic is based off my limited experience and my imagination. I don't know if this is accurate to your experience, because it really shouldn't be. Sorry not sorry but this isn't meant to be an accurate depiction of your own little sexual/non-sexual fantasies. Don't read if your sensitive to such topics. Or do read. What evs. Thanks.

Harry scrubbed at the smears of pencil lead guiltily, the soap taking its time to remove the grime from the side of his palm and fingertips. He refused to look in the mirror knowing an equally guilty and shameful flush would be spread from his hairline to his chest. Honestly, what was wrong with him!? He glanced over at his bag that rested in the sink a few paces away, safe from any stray water. From the open bag, easily in view, was a well-worn sketch pad. The wire binder dented and dingy from the many times he spelled the pages and binding back to their proper places. 

When he was young drawing was one of the only things the Dursleys didn’t punish him for, or at least not much. Dudley never had an interest in coloring, considering he had all the best of game consoles starting at a very young age and drawing was honestly boring in comparison to the graphics and fantasies he could submerge himself into. Yet Harry never played games. He was allowed all the used paperwork from Vernon’s work and Dudley’s school work, not to mention his own. They didn’t care if he brought home the most salvageable pieces from the primary schools many recycling bins and stored them in his cupboard. Really the only thing that ever held him back in any regard was their insistence that he wasn’t good enough for crayons or markers, couldn’t trust him not to ruin the walls, pencils were a safer bet. Even then he was only allowed the pencils that became too short for Vernon or Dudley’s fat fingers to properly grasp. 

At the age of 18, Harry almost wished that the Dursleys had been a little more against him drawing. That they would have burned his photos or never allow him paper. Anything to have prevented the turn his art had taken over time. It started as any child does, unintelligible lines and shapes. Then it was of dwarfed animals with one too many legs, people with too big heads and stick like appendages, trees with un-distinguishable leaves… but over time he only got better and was fairly interested in drawings realism of people's interactions, of portraits and places he had seen.

Then it was drawings of Hogwarts and the people who resided there. Of Dumbledore standing in front of the great hall, arms spread wide. Of Snape sneering down at a melting cauldron. Of Draco and his goons dressed as Dementors cowering from his wand. Quirrelmort, Tom Riddle, Voldemort. Innocent drawings of his childish crushes, Ginny, Cedric, Cho Chang, Draco… and embarrassingly enough a handful of slightly less innocent ones depicting Snape. He had blushed ten ways to hell when Hermione and Ron saw those ones. Dear gods. By 6th year he had gone through a total of three new sketchbooks, even with the tens of expansion, shrinking, binding, lightning, and compartmentalizing charms. 

The fourth sketchbook was filled fairly quickly. Being on the run meant he didn’t have to energy to spare to charm and duplicate blank pages, he would draw scenes of fear, starvation, war. Of pain and struggle, and every once in a while a moment of pure joy that would poke through all the pain. As he placed this one with the others and examined his fifth, the same light blue as the other four, he never expected for his art to take such a depraved turn.

He tore his eyes from the book and dried his hands before taking his bag and rushing back to his bed, pulling the curtains once again. It was past midnight, typical for the nights he’d get into a drawing stupor where his mind went blank as his heart and hand took control. That was something new, in fact, the meditative state of drawing was so very familiar and freeing… until later when he woke out of it mortified, embarrassed, ashamed, appalled, guilty… aroused. 

It was almost comic to look at the first couple drawings and then skipping to the last few, pictures of Ron, Hermione and him sitting by the lake as their eighth year started. All sitting on the couch in the common room. Hermione reading. Ron playing chess. A drawing of a picture they took where he and Ron had slung their arms around Hermione who was grinning widely at the camera. Then at the end of his drawings, nearly halfway through the sketchbook, drawings of a far less innocent quality. Harry blushing while Ron and Hermione smirked at him. Ron boxing him in, one knee pressed between Harry’s legs, head thrown back and cheeks pink. Hermione gripping his hair roughly standing behind his kneeling form, forcing his head back as Ron forced his cock into his mouth. Hermione with a strap-on kneeling on a bed behind Harry. Himself naked and bruised, flushed, sweating, and tied in a wonton position to a bed. 

Harry flushed as he looked at the drawing he had just finished moments ago, this one a little tamer than the others but dreadfully unlikely and depraved as the rest. The three of them sleeping flush against one another on a large bed. Ron pressed into Harry’s back and Hermione curled into Harry’s front. All three obviously having passed out after a bout of shagging. He had no clue how long he stared at the way Ron’s arm held him tight, how Hermione’s knee curved perfectly over his hip, how content smiles curled at their lips. He was only pulled from his stupor as a drop of water landed at his and Ron’s feet, not water but a tear, quickly followed by another closer to the middle of the drawing. 

Harry wiped at the page, causing the lead to smear on the paper before he wiped at his eyes. He barely remembers slamming the book close and tossing it onto his nightstand along with his glasses. He would never admit it to himself, but he knew the next morning that it was not drool that wetted his pillow. 

\----------

“You’ve got pencil on your face, mate.” Harry’s cheeks pinkened as he touched his face, catching a glimpse of grey on his palms and suddenly remembering wiping the picture last night to dry it. 

Damn. Considering he then wiped at his face, and continued to do so for a while after laying down he could only imagine the right mess he made. He glanced up at Ron as he snickered then flicked his eyes to Hermione who was looking at his face, at the red splotches from sleeping on a wet pillow, the red of the eyes from distress… Harry quickly dismissed himself into the shower. He knew it was hopeless to dream Hermione hadn’t put the pieces together and that she wouldn’t be questioning him on his sleep last night later in private. 

At least this wasn’t the first time, it was common after the fifth year, starting with crying over pictures of Sirius’ horrified expression as he fell into the vail, and only becoming frequent since then, but Hermione would think he had simply drawn another picture of Hogwarts sprinkled in blood and body limbs. Of corpses and grieving families. It would be easy to reassure her that it was just a night of reminiscing about his sketchbook. She would request to see the photos. Because while crying over them wasn’t rare, refusing to show them was. He had never been shy of his art, barely hesitating in the past to pass the ratty things off to anyone who requested.

Many would hand them back significantly paler in complexion, having only looked at one or two depictions of dead bodies and deciding they were better off not knowing. Ron and Hermione were a few of those who had ever been able to flip through the entirety of his sketches. Along with Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Neville, Luna, Draco, and Sirius. Until recently. Until this year. Until October were he drew a picture of himself wearing a far more risky version of Hermione’s Halloween outfit while she held the front of his skirt up and played with his hard manhood mockingly, looking at him like he was a particularly naughty little boy.

They hadn’t been allowed to even see the thing since then, barely catching a glimpse of the dirty blue cover here and there, or more commonly seeing the smears on his forearm, palm, fingertips, and face as he would return from god knows where or in the mornings where the smudge of lead seemed to seamlessly flow with the indented wrinkles of his pillow and palm. He planned for them to never see the sketchbook again. He hoped he would eventually grow out of this… this phase. Of his unnatural love for his best friends, of his engaged best friends planning to marry in the summer. Of his only friends really. How he had gotten to this he had no clue but he knew it was wrong. Dirty. Deprived. Dangerous. Disgusting.

If they knew how much of a freak he was they would surely leave him. And he couldn’t, dear gods he couldn’t be alone. Not again. Not ever. He couldn’t watch the disgust morph their perfect faces as they saw drawings of them debauching him, of him pleasing them, of him loving them. Of them loving him. Not the love he knew they had for him, not the platonic familial love but the deep love, of a lover, a partner, their other half. But he could never be their other half because two halves make a whole, not three. They already had each-other, they were already whole. They didn’t need him. Not truly.


	2. 2

Ginny knew something was going on, or more importantly going wrong. It was months ago that Harry and she had decided that they no longer felt anything romantic for each other, hell they even questioned if they ever had. It was far too easy to fall into a brother-sister friendship, and honestly reassuring considering both their fears of losing each-other fully to the awkward and stilted conversations they often saw other ex-couples have. This didn’t mean he shared everything with her. No far from. Slowly but surely the last few months or so he had been distancing himself, and she wasn’t the only one to notice it.

At first, she thought he was just distancing himself from her, and she went over all the possible reasons in her head, perhaps he felt awkward around her, maybe he was jealous over her relationship with Neville, maybe he liked her still and felt bad, maybe he liked another person and felt bad. Who knows. But then she noticed the same thing when it came to his two best friends, her brother, and Hermione. It was far more subtle than Ginny thought it could be, but not too subtle for Hermione not to notice… yet she didn’t. She was so caught up in the upcoming N.E.W.T’s they would all be taking and in her forming relationship with Ron. 

She seemed to be so focused on all of those that she didn’t notice Harry walking a few strides behind them with his head down, his lip being chewed to high hell. Didn’t realize that every time she and Ron sat beside each other in the commons Harry would slip away upstairs to draw or read, or most likely cry considering how he’d look in the mornings. Not that his two friends ignored him. They would offer him a seat beside them, Ron lifted his arm with a charming smile that Harry would painfully return as he declined. Hermione looping her arm with his as they walked down the hallways. But they didn’t see how the sadness seemed all the worse at those moments. As if it physically hurt. 

Ginny wondered if perhaps it had nothing to do with any budding romances between the savior and whoever else, but perhaps it was Harry’s upbringing causing all the issues. She could easily see Harry distancing himself with the belief that it was better for his friends without him. That they wouldn’t need him now that they had each-other. The more the red-headed girl thought about it the more it made sense. The Weasleys were more than aware of the issues Harry had from growing up unloved. How he still secretly believed all the Dursley’s spewed at him. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if he believed that every burn, cut, and blow was well deserved. He was okay for a while, when the war was in full swing, when everyone depended on him. Maybe because it proved he was needed, even if it was being needed for self sacrifice. In fact probably more so because they needed his pain and struggle. 

But the war was over, and Ginny felt tears prick at her eyes as she thought about Harry believing that he overstayed his welcome. That his usefulness was only temporary, that he was only there, only part of the friendship, the family, the school, the magic world- because he was useful. Not because he deserved it, not that he belonged or fit in. Ginny fought with herself on how to approach him. As his best friends sister she really never became part of their circle. She wasn’t there for all the good and bad, she was there for bits and pieces and even then those two were far more present in those moments compared to her, and she had no clue how to do this. She never really had a close male friend, at least one not close enough where she felt comfortable approaching them and reassuring them. Besides Neville this last year. She had done this all with her best friends, her female friends. But never her brothers best mate. 

She struggled with how for a week or two… until today. Today was different. Harry came down the stairs a total mess, although it appeared no one could see it. He was lacking in the tear stains and lead smears, the markings of a wet pillow. In fact, he came down looking as perfect as could be, sleep rumpled but… so very normal. It wasn’t his appearance that Ginny noticed, it was his eyes. His eyes that always screamed his emotions, the eyes that lately seemed nothing but the loneliness, anger, fear, the jealousy he felt. No today they were akin to the veil. So startlingly empty Ginny swore she got lost in trying to find anything with in them. 

Ginny didn’t question her approach for a moment. Because at that moment, she knew no matter what she said or did, it was necessary, and screw their past romantic feelings and her place as the best mates sister, recent ex, female. She marched up to him, grabbed his arm, and drug him back upstairs and to his four-poster bed. Because in that moment she felt a fear she recognized all too well, one that shouldn’t apply to a moment outside of war, nearly a year after the war. She felt the heart wrenching, soul squeezing, numbing feeling of losing a friend. Not like the feeling she had when Lavender stopped talking to her in third year, no. The feeling she had when watching her friends in battle. When Dean barely dodged a severing hex. When Colin was petrified mid-battle, when Neville ducked under a sickeningly green curse, when Fred died. 

The next thing she knew she was wrapped around Harry, sobbing into his shoulder with the bed hangings spelled shut and silent. Sobbing because she had a feeling. A horrible feeling that she was going to lose Harry. Harry was stunned, or more shocked really. But the feeling of a friend holding onto him desperately was so familiar, so achingly familiar. He hadn’t felt it since just after the battle. The feeling of someone using you as their single crutch, letting their whole weight against you and just knowing you'd be there. It broke him down like he’s broken down so many times this year, but so much deeper. 

If either had been a tad more coherent they would have wondered how they looked. Both sitting on his bed probably having some of the ugliest cries to ever been cried. Gut-wrenching sobs and painful grips on shoulders and waists. Both nothing more than a human rag to sob into and bruise. Something they both needed. 

“Harry- oh gods Harry- why? Why!” Ginny whispered brokenly a few minutes, maybe hours later. “How dare you!” She yelled pushing him away and covering her face, missing the confused and shocked look on the messy haired boy’s face as he looked up at the shaking red-head. “How dare you ever, EVER think about suicide?” Harry froze as he eyes locked on him, his face paling and body shaking at the accusatory tone and glare. How did she know? How could she… she didn’t sneak in and look at his sketch book, had she? Harry’s eyes darted over to the blue covered book, laying innocently on the nightstand, hiding away the sickness within. 

Last night would have been a reprieve simply for the fact that his drawing wasn’t of bondage, submission, and devotion to his best friends, only if the picture wasn’t selfish in a whole new way. Wasn’t so beautifully simple and not the perfect cure-all. If it wasn’t the most wonderful picture that delt away with all his freakishness and took care of the issue he created for others. Wasn’t the depiction of himself laying still in bed, two empty dreamless sleep vials at his palm, eyes wide and empty. It was the first time in a long time he didn’t feel guilt at washing away the lead on his hands. The first time he felt at peace going to sleep, nearly numb from all emotion. The first time tears didn’t stain his pillow, the first time he delicately placed his sketch pad aside instead of throwing it down in disgust. 

Ginny didn’t miss that glance. Didn’t miss the guilt and the longing in his gaze as he looked at the sketch pad she knew no one seen in months. She felt bile in her throat at the realization that he drew last night and didn’t cry. That he drew last night and no one would see. That he drew what was likely his only suicide note they would fine if she hadn’t noticed. 

“You are going to show me that drawing right now, Potter.” She whispered icily, not truly knowing if she could handle it but knowing he shouldn’t be the only one to handle it. Harry’s eyes widened and he some how paled even further. He opened his mouth to beg, to plead her to drop it but had no chance to even exhale as Ginny glared coldly at him. “NOW!” the scream was so sudden he jumped and the tears started up again as he looked at her. 

What if she flipped to the other pages? What if she sees the disgusting things he thinks about her brother? He felt bile in his throat but swallowed it down as he shakily reached for the sketch pad before angling it carefully as he flipped the middle, trying and failing not to blush in shame and cry more as he had to flip through four photo perfect pictures of him and his friends to get to the simplicity of his suicide sketch.   
Ginny saw the shame on his face, saw the tears as he flipped through the drawings but she couldn’t be sure if it was at the pictures he looked at, or at the drawing she was about to see. What if all those drawings were grotesque pictures of his own death? Of sweet suicides shaded in grey? She knew she had said she wanted to only see that photo, but she knew she was going to flip back to the others quickly, just to know. 

She hadn’t expected how simple the drawing would be. How he spent more time in detailing to bedding and vials then he took detailing himself. She took in the total peace he had drawn on his own face. The softness of his lips and pale of his cheeks. The empty stare, so alike to the one he sported an hour ago that she had to glance up into Harry’s now averted stare just to make sure. 

While all she saw was self-hate and shame within the real eyes of Harry she still felt relief at seeing emotion. Harry glanced over in time to see her grab the last few pictures and flick her wrist quickly to turn back further into the sketch pad before she could glance down Harry had lunged at her, arms and hands desperate, more desperate than his voice.

“No! No!- you’ve seen enough! Give it back, now! NOW! Ginny, please, please don’t look-” Ginny wouldn’t say that Harry was weak, because he wasn’t weak in any way but one, and that was physical. 11 years of starvation and abuse followed by sporadic bursts of abuse yearly caused the lack of muscular strength and kept him slight, on the verge of scrawny. So it was easy for Ginny to sit on his chest, pinning his arms down with her own weight as she finally, finally glanced down, and promptly froze in utter shock.

She didn’t know exactly what she expected, perhaps a drawing of Harry hanging in the owlery, maybe a drawing of him sprawled in the prefect tub with his wrists cut and swimming in his own blood. What she hadn’t expected was anything even close to this. The paper was wrinkled and warped in places, the lead smeared from what she knew instinctively was dried tears. It didn’t appear like he had drawn it, cried, and moved on, no it looked like he went back to this drawing over and over, redrawing over dried portions and eventually ruining other splotches with more tears.

Ginny swore her heart broke in that moment. She was sure it broke the moment she looked at the truly content looks he drew on the faces of his best friends and himself. Not of just content but of love. The drawing was so heartwarming in itself, but utterly heartbreaking when you had context, when you knew Hermione and Ron were getting married and Harry was up in his four-poster crying as he drew Hermione curled in his arms, Ron fitted behind him. All three naked, she would have been embarrassed to see a drawing of her brother, her brother's fiance and best mate naked if it wasn’t for the innocence that prevailed over all other feelings. The sweetness of each curve he drew, the devotion of every freckle and curl, the carefulness he exerted in drawing their faces, the pain even she felt as he struggled to fix what he ruined with his tears. 

She didn’t realize she was crying until one of her own dripped onto the page beside one of the many others. She looked over the book to see that Harry had freed his hands and covered his face as he sobbed quietly. She almost set the book aside to comfort him but she knew that if she put it down she could never ask this of him again. Never request to see this again. She almost did put it down when she flicked back a page because suddenly her tears dried probably from the heat of her cheeks because WOW. That went from zero to one-hundred real quick. After a moment she continued flipping through the drawings, back and back and back until she landed on the last of them, Harry all dressed up as a cat, far more risky than Hermione’s which was a knee-length frilly black skirt with a full sleeved loose shirt, ears and tail.

Harry was wearing a skirt that was maybe just covering his arse with a corset, make-up, ears, and tail. Ginny slid it closed and put it beside her on the bed before laying forward and holding Harry who was shaking and crying so hard as he babbled to her, and possibly himself. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, how could I do this, I’m a freak, I’m a freak, freak, freak, freak…” His voice seemed shot, the ‘r’s in freak lengthening and softening to the sound of ‘w’s and it was simple for Ginny to hear the childish tone within.

“Shh, shhh, Harry, honey it’s okay.” Harry started to shake even more, and struggle weakly against her hold as she said honey and Ginny was brought back to the fact that a good portion of those photos were very un-innocent depictions of nurturing acts- in fact, one was even Ron spoon feeding Harry while Hermione tied him to a chair. Ginny wasn’t innocent, she had been far more sexual than proper of a pureblood, and she blamed it on her own issues with the war, and she knew she had used it to cope with the war. She had become her worst after Fred’s death but when George had approached her about the problem she got help. She had seen a muggle sex therapist and they had talked over many things and although she never had much interest in it she had learned about age-play and regression. 

Honestly, as she held Harry and continued to whisper sweet nothings at him, assuring him he was a perfect little boy and that he didn’t do anything wrong, that he was good and not a freak she couldn’t for a moment imagine him not having these kinks, of having these feelings. Considering his upbringing it was no question as to why he fell in love with his two first friends, his best friends. Why he longed to be dominated in a caring, and safe, loving way. 

When she first started whispering to him she worried that he would think she was mocking him, that perhaps he was only into the age-play and not the regressing and non-sexual aspects. Yet, surely after a few sentences he curled against her, clung to the front of her shirt and nuzzled into her neck as he let out loud sobs, sobs that continued for a minute before suddenly they were muffled by his pointer and middle finger that he innocently plopped into his mouth, sucking slightly at them for a few moments, looking up at her with large, young eyes that almost didn’t fit his 18-year-old features, the 5 o'clock shadow, the bags under the eyes, but somehow they did fit. 

“It’s okay sweetie, close your eyes, sister’s here for you. I’ll be here when you wake up.” She whispered, not sure if what she was promising was the right thing to do, if taking up such a role was okay for her so soon after her own issues resolved, so soon into her relationship with Neville, so soon after even learning Harry had these feelings. If it was okay to provoke his ‘little side’ as they called it and promise to be there, to take care of him. But, she didn’t regret it for a minute, because she was sure Harry would have gone down a path he could never return from. She only hoped that when he woke up and came back to himself he wouldn’t be too mortified to talk with her.

\-------

Harry shifted around uncomfortably cold as he slowly woke up. He could hardly remember falling asleep, in fact, he was sure he woke up and headed down stairs… before Ginny grabbed him and dragged him back up-stairs. The rest seemed foggy in his still nearly asleep brain, he felt… off somehow. He heard the door to the dorms open and close and he quickly pulled the fingers from his mouth, before blushing as he realized that he had them there in the first place, it was a common occurrence lately to wake up after crying himself to sleep with his fingers in his mouth, much like he had done up until he was nine and was caught by Dudley, and eventually bullied even worse by the children at school for sucking his fingers like a baby. 

When the war was heating up he had started to wake up with them in his mouth, luckily Hermione and Ron never caught him (or never mentioned it, his brain offered) when they had shared that tent. He was about to sit up when his bed hangings moved aside and Ginny walked in. For a moment he felt elated, a grin breaking on his face and his hands itching to reach up for her as his mind supplied ‘Sissy’, before he could process what he was saying that word slipped out and his eyes widened and suddenly the fog was gone, apparently he was fully awake, and he blushed scarlet.

“I- I mean- sorry, I don’t know why I just said that!” ‘please pretend I hadn’t’ he was about to say when Ginny grinned, her cheeks a little pink as she hushed him.

“It’s okay Harry, how do you feel?” Ginny had not expected such a cute response to her entering, he was still laying down blanket pulled up to his chin which had a bit of drool on the side of it, eyes hooded tiredly until they feel upon her. Harry’s eyes had widened and he had sat up quickly, for a moment she was sure he was going to throw some grabby hands at her but they stayed at his side as a large grin, one she had never seen before, stretched his cheeks, and he quickly spoke her name- or what she was to him in that moment ‘Sissy!’. 

Like a switch that word seemed to slap him across the face because suddenly the childish, carefree grin fell off his face and his eyes widened, hand slapping over his mouth and cheeks flushing in embarrassment before he stuttered out his confused thoughts. She was sure he was out of his ‘little space’ but she still asked how he was feeling.

“I..” Harry faltered. This was a weird situation, right? Why had he felt so… happy to see her? It wasn’t something he ever felt before, and that fog he was… pretty sure was him still being sleepy cause it was gone. Otherwise, he felt fine… right? “I’m… I’m fine?” Ginny snorted before sitting down on the bed beside him.

“Are you asking or telling?” Before he could do more than roll his eyes he realized that something else was off. His skin felt itchy and the mattress felt cold and wet, almost as if he… his eyes widened and he quickly pushed Ginny, who squealed and ended up on the floor glaring up at him. 

“What the hell Har-”

“Y-you got t-to go!”

“What’s wrong?” She asked, her anger flowing out of her and being replaced with confusion and worry. He looked totally spooked. Harry’s eyes began to water slightly and he was shaking as he stared at his lap, cheeks red in shame. “Harry, what is wrong?” She asked again, getting up on her knees and trying to catch his eye. 

“G-ge-get out! Now Ginny!” 

“No.” She stated as she stood up, hands on her hips. “So help me, Harry, if you don’t tell me what's wrong RIGHT NOW, I will go get McGonagall and-”

“I PISSED THE BED! HAPPY?!” Harry yelled at her, staring at her defiantly as more tears gathered and fell. “Now get the fuck out.” the last part was said quietly and towards his fiddling hands that were in his lap. “Please.” he breathed. 

“Oh, Harry. Of course, i’m not going to leave.” He looked at her shocked as she smiled at him without judgment, trying to hide her shock at the fact he had wet the bed. She didn’t think that would happen, she knew some people trained themselves to wet the bed, or even did so when regressed, but she hadn’t expected Harry to after being in his headspace for such a short amount of time. Although she shouldn’t have been surprised. She did see a couple photo’s where Harry was tied up and desperate or standing in wet trousers as Hermione and Ron watched or scolded him. “You go get cleaned up, I’ll get your beddings all back in order,” Ginny assured pulling Harry up who was too shell-shocked and confused to fight.

“NO! I mean, no, I couldn’t let you-” He covered his crotch in embarrassment, despite the uselessness of the act considering he was practically soaked. He was so fucking mortified. 

“Harry. I wouldn’t offer unless I was sure. Your skin must be positively bothersome right now, and I'm sure those soaked clothes are no help at all. I wet the bed until I was 14, so don’t be embarrassed. It happens to the best of us!” She said, blushing at the admittance of her own bed wetting issues. She had an issue with the size of her bladder, but the medi-wizards assured that with time her bladder would grow into itself, and it had. She still had a package of pullups from then that she kept with her just in case she got sick because usually, she would sleep through the night instead of wake up at her regular time to go, leading to a few wet sheets. 

After a couple more minutes of her reassuring him and then finally pulling him into the bathroom and starting the water (and threatening to undress him and wash him herself if he didn’t comply) she was able to leave the blushing mess to do as told and easily spelled the sheets clean before calling a house elf to take them and wash those and re-make the bed.


	3. 3

Harry was beyond mortified. Of course there was the whole bed wetting thing, which left him mortified, but then while he was showering he recalled that morning, his conversation with Ginny, being pinned while she looked through the drawings and finally caving into his freakishness and acting like a baby- he even sucked his fingers while she looked directly at him!! It surely explained why he called her Sissy but didn’t help to lessen the shame and fear of having someone out there cleaning his piss while knowing he likes to act like a baby. 

Dear god, not only that but it is his best mates sister who had most definitely seen all those drawings of her brother's cock- oh my gods- he was freaking out. He quickly sat down and put his back to the cold tile, rocking forward and back as he clung to his hair. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods-

“Harry? You’ve been in there offaly long, are you alive?” Ginny’s voice, slightly muffled by the door and laced with amusement was easily ignored by his growing panic and chanting of ‘no, no, no, no-’

“Harry?! Can you hear me? You didn’t put up a silencing charm did you?”

“Harry?”

“HARRY!” Harry was rocking more and more, pulling at his hair until the pain outweighed the panic. ‘No, freak, no, freak’ slipped quickly from his lips over and over and over and OVER AND OVER AND- arms wrapped around him, not caring of the water that soaked her right side, making her clothes heavy. Hands gently removed his own from his hair and placed them on the hem of her own shirt so he could squeeze and pull, small hands soothed at the soar roots of his wet hair and calming words were whispered, not like the ones last night, none of the petnames of sweetheart, honey, darling, but words of reassurance.

“It’s okay Harry, you are okay, you’re in the bathroom in the Gryffindor boy’s dorms, can you hear the shower running? Hear my voice? It’s me Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley’s sister. Can you feel the steam and water? It’s all here, I’m here. It will be here when you open your eyes. You’ll hear it hitting the tiles just as you can hear my voice. I want you to focus on my voice, on how it is just in front of you. I want you to do as I say- exactly as I say, Harry. If you can hear me I want you to tug on my shirt- yes just like that. You’re doing so good, Harry.” After nearly ten minutes Harry was taking calm, even breaths as he kept eye contact with Ginny who sat cross-legged in front of him. 

“Okay, Harry. I’m going to grab a towel, I want you to count how many steps I take away from you, and how many I take towards you. Can you do that for me, Harry?” Harry nodded and watched, counted. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Then back towards him, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. 

“6 and 7.” He murmured, smiling slightly as she draped him in a towel and stood him up, the water having been turned off a while ago when he had said he couldn’t breathe. He stood up shakily, his but numb besides the slowly awakening pinpricks as circulation returned to the appendages that lacked. “I'm sor-”

“Don’t be sorry Harry. You think you're the only one in this building who had to be talked out of a panic attack? Hell, I was shitting once and Lavender had to break the door down and talk me out of an attack because I had knocked something off the sink and it made a loud sound.” Harry snorted and she grinned. “I hadn’t even finished going, I had to ask her to leave so I could finish up.” 

“Merlin, really?” Ginny was red but smiling, she and Lavender had reconciled after that and laughed many a time over it.

“Yes, really. Let’s go to the kitchens, okay? We have a talk to get through and I know you haven’t had a scrap to eat since last night.”

“What time is it?” Harry asked, pushing his worried thoughts on their talk away, he didn’t need another panic attack. 

“Nearly noon, but we are skipping lunch today. Everyone thinks you're sick and don’t want visitors. I explained that you requested I take care of you, I can’t recall what I said to convince them that your ex was the best choice to take care of you, but I somehow did.” Harry giggled a little and they spent the rest of the walk talking about unimportant and mindless things until they were both seated behind a small mountain of food. It was easy to ask for a private place to eat, and the elves set the tables up in the elves chamber, just a short crawl behind the kitchens. Since it was nearly lunch most elves were cooking while the younger elves were off with their parents learning or playing. 

The only other elves within the room were the infant ones, barely the length of a finger and as wide as two. All of which were asleep and would be asleep until well after lunch was served. It was a hard conversation for both of them. Starting with Ginny admitting to her sex addiction and leading up to her therapy and how it pertained to him. She spoke about recognizing the signs after seeing the sketchbook and how she just went into big sister mode with no regret. Harry had a hard time listening, but after a bit, he stayed open minded. He was crying by the end quietly and poking his fork at a pile of peas. 

“Don’t play with your food.”

“Yes, mother.” He snipped before widening his eyes. “Not like that! I mean, you're my sister, not really! Er…” then they both burst out laughing.

“Harry, I think seeing a therapist would be good for you. In fact, mine would be perfect.”

“Ginny, I’ve never even had sex, how could he help?”

“He’s a sex therapist, but you don't need to have had sex to need him. He talks to all sorts of people, ones who are scared of intimacy, who feel no sexual attraction, who were sexually abused, who sexually abused others. And he’s not only a sexual therapist. He also specialized in PTSD, child, adolescent, and adult therapies. He could probably be helpful to anyone. Plus, he will be able to refer you to someone else if he feels he can’t give you all you need. Please, think about it?” 

“I will, Gin. I will.” He promised before averting his eyes shyly. “Ginny… about the ‘Sissy’ thing…” 

“Harry, I should apologize for that. You were vulnerable and in little space, as they call it, I should not have put myself in that position without discussing it with you. But that offer still stands. I would be honored to be a caregiver of sorts for you, or if that's too much I could be a friend of yours if you ever fall into that space.”

“I, I- yes. I’d like that, like you being my s-sissy.” He blushed pink and Ginny smiled at the cute that was Harry Potter. “I mean, you already are a sister to me Gin, and you always will be.” He finished meeting her eyes and she grinned at him before walking over and pulling him into a hug that he happily accepted with a chuckle. 

“You will always be my brother, big or small.”

\--------

It was a few months later, the first day of June that Harry slipped up. It took a couple weeks for Ginny and Harry to truly get the hang of things. It took only days for Harry to accept the idea of doing therapy, and the first few sessions were spent with the therapist explaining what age regression was, and about the community that surrounded it. At first, he didn’t want her to take care of him, didn’t want to burden her with taking care of a full grown adult acting like an infant, but it simply fell into place and they easily fell into their roles when need be. 

What he hadn’t expected was to slip into headspace on a Tuesday afternoon while walking with Hermione and Ron to Dinner. Harry couldn’t say what set him off. If it was the stares of younger years looking at him in awe, or if it was walking down the hallway that looked just like any other hallways they had to rebuild, or if it simply was the fact that he was trying to stay out of Headspace these last few days, but suddenly he wasn’t 18. 

The shift was so smooth, damn near seamless, he hadn’t even realized it happened. One second he was watching as Ron slipped his hand into Hermione’s… oh, maybe that set him off… and the next he was sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve, standing in the middle of a crowded hallway silently crying. It took a couple seconds for his friends to notice they had been walking alone but the second the looked back to see Harry standing with a group of first years gaping at him, shoulders slouched and sleeve wiping fruitlessly at the tears, they dropped each-others hands and rushed towards him, worry etched into every inch of their frame and faces.

“Harry, mate, what's wrong?” Ron said quietly, shooting a glare dark enough to empty the hallway in seconds flat before Hermione threw up a large range ward that would make others choose a different corridor. A few more pitiful sniffles were the only reply to his question. Hermione slowly placed her hand on his shoulder but Harry took a step back and turned his face away from them. For a second all Hermione could see was a petulant child. 

“Harry, look at me.” Harry shook his head over exaggeratedly, his hair flopping too and fro before settling into an even bigger mess than usual. Hermione kneeled down in front of him, making it near impossible to look at her, that is until he turned around and put his back to them, shaking as he started to cry even more. 

They were meanies! Harry thought angrily. All he knew was that he didn’t like them, not one bit! And he didn’t want them to see him crying like a baby either. Cause they were meanies and all he wanted was his sister. She could make him feel better, she could explain his feelings. It wasn’t the first time Little Harry thought of Ginny, but it was the first time he didn’t scold himself for wanting her. Didn’t stop himself from finding her. Or in this case, asking for her.

“I- I wan GinGin!” he sobbed out covering his face before plopping on the floor with his legs crossed. Hermione’s eyes shot up to Rons as her eyebrows raised up in shock and confusion, much like Rons, although his didn’t go up, but furrowed down, giving off the utter perplexity they both were experiencing. It wasn’t lost upon them that Ginny and Harry had been closer the last few weeks, although neither questioned if they were together considering Ginny’s very serious relationship with Neville, but they both wondered in that moment if perhaps Harry still had feelings for the youngest Weasley. “I WAN HER, I WAN HER, I WAN HER!” Harry started chanting loudly and both sprung up at the odd behavior. 

“What the bloody hell, Mione whats going on?”

“I don’t know, it has to be a panic attack- I, go get Ginny.”

“But-”

“Now Ronald!” She snapped, her patience non-existent in the face of her friend’s growing hysterics. She had never seen a panic attack like this, of course, she told Ron it was one, but she honestly questioned if this was more of a mental breakdown. In truth, Harry looked like he was throwing a tantrum, like a young toddler asking for their mother. Of course, that couldn’t be it… right? Harry was 18, on his way to 19. Yet, Hermione couldn’t shake the niggling in the back of her mind. 

The memories of times where Harry had acted a wee bit immature. When he snuck into Ron’s bed 5th year after a nightmare, scaring the shit out of the red-head upon awakening. When he would pout after a scolding, how his eyes lit up upon seeing a box of Ron’s old toys at the burrow, all those times Ron and she had been patrolling while on the run and caught sight of a sleeping Harry, curled up tightly with his forefingers in his mouth. 

But those were all stressful times, all so explainable and understandable. Yet right now was not. When she had tried again to place her hand on him he only scooted away more upset so she settled for sitting there and waiting. Not for long luckily as a frantic Ginny came rushing around the corner her eyes widening as she took in the sight of her little brother curled on the floor, back to the three of him.


	4. 4

“Stay away.” She demanded, giving them a heated glare as she rushed and fell to the ground in front of him, a worried frown etched into her face as she took in the way Harry was violently sucking on his fingers. She threw up a quick muffling charm before reaching forward and placing her hand over his. “Now, none of that Harry. You’ll suck them stubby!” she scolded and smiled slightly as his eyes shot open and looked at her in relief.

Harry sat up and threw himself at her so fast, and frankly hard, that she fell back onto her arse with him practically curled on his lap, face pressed into her shoulder as he continued to cry. She ignored the very obvious staring of her brother and friend, just hoping they wouldn’t put too much together from this outburst, or maybe wishing a little that they would. She pushed him away slightly and took his left hand in hers, examining the nearly purple fingers. She made a tsking sound and felt herself fall nearly as seamlessly into the role of caregiver as she brought the fingers up and gave them a kiss before gently rubbing them.

“My goodness mister, what made you so upset?” 

“I *sniff* don’ *sniff* know *sniff*” She inwardly cooed at the childish hue to his voice, she had heard it many times, but it never got less cute. “I *sniff* jus miss *sniff* youu- WAHHHH” and he started to sob again. 

“Shhh, shh, shh, shh, I’m here now, honey, I’m here.” 

“An, an, an Won an *sniff* Hamoney are meeeaannniieessss!” She couldn’t hold back a snort of amusement at that. She wondered what had happened between them to cause such a shift, to cause him to regress in the middle of the day at Hogwarts. It was rare for him to go into headspace in the first place, only doing it every few nights. “Okay, sweetheart, I want you to stay here for a minute, okay? In fact, you can hold this for me, alright?” She handed him her purse, knowing it would make the statement of her returning soon, and not leaving him.

“O-o-otay GinGin.” He stuttered, still crying. Poor thing. 

She stood up and quickly made her way over to the two who were whispering back and forth furiously. They hadn’t expected Harry to react so strongly to Ginny, having thrown himself at her roughly and sobbed, although they couldn’t hear a thing, into her robes. Nor had they expected to see her kiss his hand, although Hermione took note of the fact it was his left forefingers, and she didn’t have to think long as to why, although she did wonder why Ginny would do something so patronizing like kissing them. Harry was an adult after all. 

What neither had truly expected was the spike of jealousy each experienced watching them together. They both knew Ginny was spoken for, but to them, Harry and Gin seemed rather intimate. Ron assumed he felt that way because he and ‘mione were Harry’s best mates, and Harry hadn’t even accepted there attempts at calming him, but Ginny rushes in and Harry’s all over her and- okay so Ron had an inkling to the true meaning, but he was with Hermione, and Harry wasn’t gay. Or at least never admitted to it. 

Hermione felt much the same flash of jealousy but didn’t even try to lie to herself. She’s had feelings for Harry since the very beginning, just as she had feelings for Ron since the very beginning. But Ron returned those feelings, and they did fit together nicely. So it left no question as to why she felt so jealous to see Harry in Ginny’s arms. At the moment both had also felt guilt.

Because they really hadn’t been spending much time with Harry, not truly. But both knew they had to get over him because both believed it was wrong while planning to marry the other. How could they do that after the war? They both knew how this had affected Harry, far worse than them leaving him in fourth year when they felt betrayed, believing he had lied to them. 

“We couldn’t have known-” 

“Couldn’t have known Ron? Couldn’t have known?! We’re his best friends and we- we”

“I know! Fuck! Bloody Fuck I know! Dear gods, we are horrible!”

“Yes, Yes you two are!” Ginny’s voice broke in, standing a few feet away with her hands on her hips. “I get it, you two are in love, and it’s the end of your last year at Hogwarts and NEWTS are just around the corner, but dear fucking god, Harry needs you! Has needed you! I don’t know how many times I watched you two dismiss him, or watched him trail behind you or go upstairs so you two could be alone. I want to know what was happening before his episode.”

“Nothing! We were walking down the hallway and… and well... he was behind us.” Hermione said, her voice weakening as Ginny’s words of ‘trailing behind you’ hit her like a truck. Ginny’s eyes narrowed as she took a moment to compose herself.

“What were you two doing? Whispering to each-other?” Head shaking no. “Flirting?” both blushed and shook their head, Ron no and Hermione yes, much to Ron’s confusion.

“What? We weren’t flirting… were we?” Ron asked perplexed. Hermione huffed and blushed.

“You grabbed my hand, and held it! Geez, Ron.” 

“That's not flirting! That's- that's holding hands!” 

Ginny turned away to hide the pain she felt for Harry from then. She knew that she promised Harry she would never say anything, but she couldn’t help the words that slipped from her mouth.   
“You two are so blind to what you have. Harry is special. Your friendship is special, and what you three could have is special.” She thought back to the times she swore she saw Ron check Harry out growing up. To the rumors that made Hermione stutter out denials when everyone thought her and Harry were together. She knew at one point they liked him in that way, what happened? Well, she didn’t know. But she did know that every day was torture for Harry. She turned back to the two who were staring at her in guilt and decided that if Harry hated her for it, then it would be well worth it for these three to finally know, to know Harry liked them, for Harry to know for sure if he had a chance. Because in three months Hermione and Ron would marry and she couldn’t handle the thought of Harry standing beside his two loves as they became one, while he stayed alone. Because he would.

Harry would never get over them, would never burden them, would never leave them, or hold them back. He would go to all the Christmas and Halloween parties, he would watch them celebrate their anniversaries and eventually become godfather and uncle to their child, a child he would dream of being theirs, not just Hermione and Rons but a child that would call him papa and Ron dada and Hermione mama. He would wonder what it would be like to call Hermione Mommy and Ron Daddy. Cause he already did. 

“I suggest you find a way to look in his sketchbook. Really look at it. Look at the emotion, the tension, the pain, the fear, the love he draws. Look for the meaning behind it and think about this.” she said, pointing to Harry who was sniffling on the floor with Gin’s purse clutched to his chest staring at them with wide, innocent eyes. Damn near too innocent in all of their opinions. 

Ginny left, with Harry clinging to her purse and arm.

\--------

“I got it.” Ron breathed quietly as Hermione slipped into his bed silently. They both stayed up late, very late as Harry had stayed up drawing until the wee hours of the morning, or more like 2 am. Ron had sent a message through the two way (three-way) mirrors the trio had received from Flitwick at the beginning of the year, a gift from Hogwarts he had said. 

“I’m not sure about this Ron… he’s been rather secretive about it and I don’t want to risk his trust, god knows how much we’ve already lost these last few months…” She said in her normal voice, trusting the silencing spells the had both layered around his bed. 

“Obviously not secretive enough, Gin had obviously looked through it.” He said petulantly, pouting as Hermione swatted his arm.

“Don’t act like that, we should just be happy someone looked after him for us while we took our ‘leave of absence’” She mocked her and Ron scornfully, sick with guilt on how they acted. On how she dealt with her unresolved feelings. Ron looked at her guiltily before flipping to the first page. The drawing was beautiful, in a haunting way. It was Hogwarts, half of it nearly decimated as it had been at the beginning of summer while the other half stood in its full glory. 

“I’ll never get over how good an artist he is…” She whispered, Ron, nodding slightly in agreement, eyes wide as he took in the amazing detail. The next handful of photos were all just amazing, a few pictures of them levitating debris back to its rightful place, a drawing of Neville looking off to the side stubbornly, jaw set. A sketch of the first feast in the rebuilt building, they could both remember him drawing this, right there at the dinner table with a slight smile on his face. 

“He should really publish his drawings, imagine how much he could do with these the money he could make, the people he could bring closure to.” Ron murmured before promptly blushing and slamming the sketch pad closed, mouth gaping as he definitely revoked that statement. 

“What? Ron, what is it? What did he draw? Is it another photo of Snape pushing him against the wall?” Hermione asked curiously, she remembered that incident all too well, and the way Ron blushed was fairly similar, although he was far redder, closer to the blush Harry had sported when the Snape incident of fourth year happened. Boy does she wished she made copies of those drawings, she would be the first to admit Snape was sexy in the dark, mysterious, off-limits way. She had never questioned Harry’s motives for those drawings, unlike Ron who looked sick (although Hermione didn’t know he was sick with envy). 

Ron wasn’t actually 100% percent sure of what he saw, he just remembers a cock under a skirt and a few fingers trailing up it. He was honestly trying to keep from sporting a halfie, because for all he knew it would be Draco Malfoy under that skirt with Harry on his knees. He took a deep breath and opened the sketchbook up, giving both Gryffindors a good view of the photorealistic drawing and making both flush crimson as their jaws threatened to hit the floor. So… about that halfie Ron was struggling not to sport…

“I- is that m-m-me?” Hermione squeaked, eyes slightly glassy as she took in the drawing. Their positions should have screamed ‘Dominant Male, Submissive Female’ with Harry standing over her hard, while she kneeled in front of him. But it was the exact opposite. The way Harry’s legs turned inward as if wanting to hide his erection, the blush on his face as he averted his eyes, lips parted slightly, and of course the corset and skirt he wore, along with the tail that seemed to be flicked to the side, and cat ears that were tilted back slightly in embarrassment and shame. 

Obviously not enough shame, or just the right kind of shame if you took in the dripping member Hermione’s depiction was teasing, and teasing she was, just a few fingers running up it as she smirked up at him, her expression screaming that she was in control, that she had the upper hand. Ron was surprised at the lack of jealousy he felt.

I mean, it was his fiance practically jerking off his best mate… his best mate who looked far too sweet in that slutty little outfit. Fuck if he wasn’t more turned on than any nudey magazine he’s ever had could make him. As if in a trance he flicked through page after page, both Gryffindors growing more and more shocked and aroused as the pictures went from just one or the other to all three of them torturing, pleasuring, being pleasured, controlling, dominating Harry. It was when they came across a page stained with tears that they took a moment to truly look for what Ginny had suggested. 

They looked at the emotion every pencil stroke held, the emotion each of their faces sported, at the love their drawn versions held for each other, at the jealousy Harry had for their relationship, at the pain he felt for never having a chance with them. They too added tears to the page like everyone who’d seen it. 

“Oh, Ron.” 

“Hermione, I-I’m sorry, it was my fault. I felt guilty because I liked- no fuck, I love Harry and I have for years but he never liked me back, or at least never showed me he had so when you had shown your interest I went with it because I loved you too. I’ve been trying to get over him and trying to fall into more love with you than love with him and it’s all my fault that he is worse than before and-”

“Ron, RON! Calm down, me too, oh gods me too! I’ve loved him since first year, actually before I loved you- I’m so sorry- I love you, I truly do but I love him too.” They drew each other into a sweet kiss filled with sorrow before pulling apart and putting their foreheads together. “Merlin, look at all those tears Ron, how could we not see it? How could we leave him behind?” She took a deep breath before pulling back.

“We have to fix this ‘Mione, I don’t want to lose our chance, imagine the three of us. Together.” Ron said quietly, hope and despair in his voice. “He has to forgive us.” 

“He doesn’t have to…” Hermione whispered as she let out a little sob. “But I hope he does, is- is that the last photo?” She asked and Ron turned the page only to choke on a sob. Harry in an eternal sleep was something he never wanted to see again and he turned the page just to erase the memory only to see a drawing of Ginny sitting on Harry’s chest as she held what he believed to be the sketchpad and he couldn’t help the snort he let out.

“That would explain how she convinced him to show her this.” He said with a smile, no matter how angry he was with his sister for seemingly replacing him (he knew how ridiculous that sounded) He couldn’t help the fond annoyance he felt for her. 

The drawings after that drew them back to the other night as Harry cried in the hall. Pictures of Harry at the therapist blushing, a picture of Ginny holding out a pacifier to a very embarrassed and angry Harry, who was dressed in a onesie. A drawing of Hermione and Ron swinging what looked like a toddler version of Harry between them. Ron slipping his hand down Harry’s diaper while Harry had his head thrown back into Hermione's, who was playing with his perked nipples and whispering to him, obviously dirty things. 

It took a while but Hermione spent as much time as Ron needed to explain things to him, and eventually both fell asleep with the sketchbook across their stomachs, open to a drawing of the three of them sitting on the couch as Hermione reached across Ron to pull Harry’s fingers from his mouth while he giggled, Ron watching fondly.


	5. 5

Harry was freaking out. His sketchbook was gone. He knew where he put it last night, on the nightstand per usual, but it wasn’t there. Or under his bed, pillow, blanket, in his trunk, in the commons, in Ginny’s possession. And the only people he could imagine having the audacity to take it without permission were the last people he would want to see. So, shaking slightly, he slid Ron’s hangings open only to pale as he took in his sketchbook, opened to his most recent drawing laying across his slumbering friends. Or his seemingly slumbering friends until Hermione’s eyes met his panicking ones. 

She sat up slowly as if he was a rabbit that would scurry at any quick movements or sudden sounds. He nearly missed how her foot kicked at Ron’s ankle, but he was shaking his head no jerkily as tears ran down his face. They would hate him. Forever. And go get married and never invite him to the wedding and never talk to him, they’d leave him all alone and Sissy wouldn’t want him anymore either ‘cause she’d choose Ron over him. Just like Hermione did. And Ron chose Hermione. They didn't want a little freak like him. He turned around to run but ran into the hangings that he swore he left open.

He pulled at them, shook them, hit at them but they wouldn’t budge and before he knew it he was a shaking, sloppy, crying mess on the floor being sandwiched by people who probably felt repulsed to even touch him. 

“Go way! Go way!” He cried, slowly but surely feeling the fog of is little space seep in.

“Harry, Harry we need you to stay big, can you stay big with us?” Hermione murmured as she pulled him towards her, pulled him into her chest. “We aren’t mad, or upset, or grossed out Harry. We love you so much and love your art. Please, take a deep breath?” and surprisingly he felt the fog recede and felt the cold air through his nostrils. Over and over again until he could feel Ron’s large hand rubbing his back, and Hermione's heartbeat in his ear. 

“It was during second year, or really the end of it. When I saw you carrying Ginny from the chamber and all I could think about for that summer was how even tired, dirty, and shaking you looked beautiful.” Ron whispered, blushing at what he was saying, and tipping his head back to look up at his bed hangings. “I- *coughs awkwardly and blushes crimson* I got my first true stiffy thinking about how heroic you were, of course, I had others, but like it was from stupid things like a dream I couldn’t remember, or like, a broomstick I was sitting on-”

“Ron!” Hermione scolded amused and he flushed further.

“Right, too much information.” Harry couldn’t help the puff of air resembling a chuckle at that, even though his disbelief and shock at what Ron was saying, also he was completely flustered, and trying to hide the fact in Hermione’s shirt. “Anyway, I was totally gay for you, but was sure I wasn’t gay because I sure thought the Chudley Cannons’ Cheer Maidens were pretty hot.”

“Oh my fucking god.” Hermione murmured to the surprise of both and more chuckles ensued. 

“Either way, I didn’t think you felt the same because you never glanced at me in the showers like I di- *coughs again* (Harry blushes crimson and feels a twitch at the idea of Ron watching him change- and really not the time mini harry). It was fourth year I started to fall for ‘Mione too, I already loved you but I was sure it was unrequested-”

“Requited, Ron, Unrequited.” Hermione corrected.

“Yes, that, so when we were on the run and I noticed the spark between me and ‘Mione I made my move, but after the war I was just as hopelessly in love with her as I was with you and I didn’t think Hermione deserved that, so I tried to fall more in love with her than with you and that meant distancing myself from you, and I’m so sorry mate. I’m so fucking sorry that I didn’t notice sooner, or that we distanced ourselves when you needed us most.” It was silent as Ron’s confession ended and Harry honestly didn’t know what to say, luckily Hermione started talking before he could try to speak. Although maybe it was unlucky because what she would say would lead to even more speechlessness.

“I feel in love with both of you the moment you guys threw stones and shoved wands where they didn’t belong at a troll.” a snort was heard from someone but Hermione couldn’t tell who. “Although I had a crush on you before all of that Harry, you were so tiny and shy and always defended my honor, and the honor of others. It was sweet.” Hermione murmured, risking a kiss to the messy mop of curls in front of her and swearing she could feel the increasing heat from said messy-haired boys blush. “I was kind of mortified with myself for liking two boys, kind of kept telling myself it was… well, slutty.” She whispered the last word as if it was forbidden, making an amused smile curl at both boys lips. “Of course over time I accepted it, but I never knew either of you held feelings for me, I mean, why would you? I was the messy haired, underdeveloped know-it-all-”

“Not so underdeveloped know, huh ‘Mione?” Hermione gasped and swatted at Ron and Harry tried to subtly move further from her chest in mortification at realizing his heads placement, but Hermione's hand at his neck stopped him, although not the never-ending blush, perhaps he was jinxed. 

“When Ron showed interest, I was willing to try and love him, and only him, but it never truly worked. Id still looks at you and feel my cheeks pinken, my knees would go weak when you put your hand on the small of my back. So when I could I distracted myself from you with studying and with the upcoming wedding, and Ron. Because it was easier. When Ron was done blushing like a 10 year old looking at the Sears underwear catalog and showed me that first drawing, I swear I had never been more turned on.”

“Right?!” Ron exclaimed. “I swear it was a shock I didn’t stain my pants right then and there.” Harry squirmed awkwardly, sitting up and placing his hand on his lap to hide his chubby as he looked at both hesitatingly.

“So… you… like me?”

“Oh, Harry. We love you.” Hermione murmured, slowly leaning forward and planting a soft, chaste kiss on his nose, making Harry turn scarlet. As she sat back with a slight smirk at the squirming boy. Harry was mortified to realize he was nearly hard as a rock from that simple gesture, and he was hard as a rock as Ron leaned over and kissed his temple, murmuring against it.

“Love you so much, please marry us.”

“Ronald! Don’t spring that on him! He’s just been told his friends l-”

“I-it was love at first sight for me, the moment you guys became my friends I never wanted to be without you… so Y-yes.” Harry stuttered out, staring intently at his fingers, clasped over his rather tight jeans. 

“Yes?!” Hermione gasped. “Really? You mean it?” She continued, trying to catch his eyes. He averted them further before asking quietly.

“D-did you look at all the drawings?” He hoped they did and didn’t because if they didn’t he wouldn’t let them, he’d burn them and hope that he would be content to have a normal relationship with them, he didn’t need all the bells and whistles… and chains and restraints and diapers and-

“Oh, we saw it all,” Ron said, his voice sultry, and eyes dark as he thought back to all the photos, his mind setting on the one of Harry leaning against Hermione as Ron shoved his hand down his diaper, whether it was a used diaper or not Ron couldn’t care because FUCK was either option hot. Harry went crimson as he stuttered out his next question.

“A-a-and it didn’t… g-gross you out?” he whispered. 

“You tell me.” Ron murmured and Harry’s eyes darted to Ron’s lap where an obvious erection strained his pants, and dear god it was so big… Harry darted his eyes away and felt himself getting more little, so much was happening all at once and he was overwhelmed and he kind of just wanted his Sissy.

“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione’s voice startled Harry with the scolding tone and he looked at her with wide eyes, feeling himself get that much littler as he heard and saw the dominating presence of Hermione. “You go take a cold shower this minute. We’ve been with Harry for one minute and you're already pressuring him!” Ron felt guilt flood him, making his erection wilt significantly.

“Never! Oh, gods mate I didn’t mean it that way, I was just being stupid, you know me- you won't have to do anything until you're comfortable.” He assured and Harry grinned up at him and Ron’s eyes widened slightly as he saw the shift in demeanor. It took him a glance at his girlfriend to realize what had happened. Harry was little. 

Harry’s grin seemed to shift into a slight frown as he twisted his hands in his lap, totally dismissing the way his boy parts were still hard and said quietly.

“I wan Sissy. Whewes Sissy?” Ron and Hermione knew from the drawing of Ginny and Harry what he was asking for.

“Ginny is sleeping right now, do you want ‘Mione to go get her?” Ron asked softly, an equally soft smile on his face. Harry nodded and was about to plop his fingers in his mouth to soothe himself when Ron interrupted their journey with a sure hand. “We both know Ginny doesn’t like you sucking on your pretty little fingers, young man.” He scolded lightly as he thought to the drawing of Ginny ‘offering’ a paci as Harry grumpily pulled his fingers from his mouth. He didn’t know if it was something that happened or a fantasy of Harry’s but based on the wide-eyed stare he received he was sure it was the right choice. 

Hermione had been a little apprehensive of leaving Ron with Harry being Little, but as she watched Ron’s interaction all she could feel was warmth in her heart and a feeling of bliss as she realized this all might just work out for the better. 

“Okay little one, up on the bed with Da- Ron” She blushed crimson at what she had almost said, for Morgana’s sake! It’s only been five minutes. Ron smirked at her and threw her a rather saucy wink that she returned with an exasperated eye roll. “Not going to happen, Ronald!” She said in loo of his growing thoughts of maybe Hermione calling him that, but he knew that would be odd, she wasn’t one to submit. 

\---------

“Gin, Ginny. Wake up. Harry needs you.” Hermione whispered as Ginny’s eyes fluttered open, the sound of Harry’s name making her blink and sit up with a glare.

“I swear to Morgana if you two-”

“He’s perfectly happy, Ron’s entertaining him.” She said with a pointed look practically announcing that they knew everything- everything, and were seemingly okay with it.

“Ron’s with him?! Alone?” Ginny exclaimed, unable to imagine Ron being the one to stay alone with Little Harry, he was probably uncomprehending of what being in a little/big relationship was and probably felt out of his depth- Hermione’s hand on her shoulder and reassuring smile smoothed her worries some, but she wouldn’t be totally okay until she saw her little brother. 

They entered the room and approached the bed hangings, opening it at just the right point that neither of the boys could see them as Ron sat with Harry reclined against him, maybe they would have if both weren’t so focused on the mini dragon that flew around and spouted fire, making chase to a boy on a broom. Ron’s wand was moving around as he spoke, his words transitioning into the play by play that enraptured the younger male, who was staring up in awe, jaw open slightly as he watched. 

“The dragon was shocked that this mere human boy could fly so much better than she- despite the years it had with its wings. The dragon keeper knew the dragon didn’t mean any harm- not really. It was its job to protect its nest, to protect her eggs but he knew a predators egg laid within the nest. Harry gasped and looked down, bringing the girl's attention to the fact that in Harry’s hands sat a rendition of a dragon's nest, with one egg different from the others nestled in the middle. 

“OH NO!” Harry gasped as he looked in horror at the bad egg. Ron smiled softly and pulled Harry tighter against his chest.

“Don't worry, because the boy had a special gift, one he promised to never reveal unless it was dier. He… could speak to dragons.” Ron said dramatically, making the little version of what the girl knew to be Harry during the first task in fourth-year speak, making the dragon freeze and huff in shock. “‘An imposter!’ the dragon keeper cried, surprising the mother dragon. ‘Within you're nest, colored different from the rest!’ the mother dragon didn’t believe him but glanced over her shoulder, and finally noticed one egg was gold, and not white like her babies. The dragon quickly descended on her nest-” The dragon swooped down startling Harry who tried to flinch back, but Ron was in the way. So instead he cried out in panic. “Shh, Harry, she is not mean, or scary. She is a mother, and Mom’s would do anything to protect their young.” Ron said, a hint of sadness in his voice that the three adults knew to be for their little friends own life, the one he escapes by being Little. 

Harry relaxed slightly, but watched wearily as the dragon landed on his lap and crawled quickly towards the nest before sniffing the golden egg and recoiling with a hiss, it was seemingly about to lung but Harry drew the nest back chagrined. 

“You said Dwagon not mean!” Harry cried accusingly, glaring hotly over his shoulder at Ron as he cradled the nest to his chest. Ron held back a laugh at that, fucking adorable. He finally took notice of the girls melting into goo by his nightstand and grinned at them a little embarrassed before comforting Harry. 

“Watch Harry, let the story unfold.” He murmured softly, waiting for Harry to put the nest back within her reach. He waited a moment before warning him that he was going to start the story again, and watched as Harry resisted pulling the nest back but watched as a golden shield formed around the nest.

“The dragon keepers job may have been to the dragons, but he knew that no matter predator or prey, everyone was innocent, and that baby egg had a mother somewhere, looking for it. So he sent his love for everything breathing and used it to protect the small unaware life. ‘No, Mother Dragon, that babe may not be yours, but it tis another’s, I can safely remove the egg from you're nest and return it to its mothers!’ The Dragon Keeper carefully removed the egg and flew all over the meadow until he spotted another nest, this one with many golden eggs, and one white. He quickly searched for the mother but gave up and switched out the eggs before flying back to the mother dragon. The mother dragon was grateful and learned a great lesson. For if she had killed the intruder she would have never been returned her true babe, and although the Dragon keeper never met the other mother, he knew that she was just as thankful.” Ron finished, the magical depictions vanishing.

“The en?” Harry asked. 

“The end.” Ron returned before gesturing to the two women who had fully stepped in. Harry looked over and gasped, a large grin taking over his face.

“Sissy! Sissy! Won made a dwagon! An- an a bwoom!” The three listened to the Little Harry babble on and on about his new friends, and the three looked at each-other grateful for this chance. Grateful for Harry. 

The two soon-to-be-proclaimed Mommy and Daddy couldn’t help waiting anxiously for the day that the three would wed, nor wait for the day they could tie their boy up in their marital bed. It may not have been the way they planned, or the way the wizarding world expected it to go (the daily prophet had a field day with the ‘Golden Triad’) but they couldn’t help thinking this was how it was supposed to be.


End file.
